


Cow Burgers- DeanCas

by buck_y_bucks



Series: Kiddie!Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural, cw - Fandom, deancas - Fandom, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Bath, Comfort, Comfort No Hurt, Fluff, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1929375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buck_y_bucks/pseuds/buck_y_bucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When you get sad, your eyes..” His breath halts, another round of water works trailing down his flushed cheeks, “Your eyes look sad. Like empty. Like-“ His eyes go round as he finds the perfect words, “Like that broken swing set outside the Bunker looked before you fixed it. Sad like that. All.. All sad.” Castiel wipes at the tears drying on his cheeks and Dean makes a note to apply more sun-block. The small child pats the goat’s head. The goat just grinds its teeth together, crushing the hay in its mouth. “The goat looks sad like you, when you drink that brown stuff at the dinner table or that time we saw Grandma’s big, fancy stone in that creepy ghosty yard-“ He continues to ramble on. The blood in Dean’s veins is molten hot, singing the inside of his skin. “Uncle Sam’s eyes kinda looked like that, before he started to go with Gabe. Now his eyes are kind of like… They’re kind of like the swing set after you fixed it. So.. Happy. I guess? Yeah, happy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cow Burgers- DeanCas

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new series. Please leave feedback.

COW BURGERS 

Castiel scuttles towards the Farm’s chicken wire fence, pressing his little nose against the gaps. His blue eyes are wide, lashes lying thick on his brow. Dean trundles up behind him, the carrying tote heavy on his shoulder.

“Hey, Gizmo!” Dean shouts to Castiel, swinging the bag to the ground and kneeling in front of it. Castiel just jumps on the balls of his feet, little face split into an excited smile. “We need to put some sun-block on that pasty skin of yours!” Castiel grins, not understanding the insult behind the affectionate tone. He pounds up to his Father, little body trembling with a fine shiver of anticipation. Dean produces a small tube of sun-block, squirting the white paste onto his hand. It’s warm from the ride here. “Close your eyes, Cas.” Dean whispers.  
Castiel does, squeezing his eyelids together so tightly wrinkles form at the corners, his nose scrunched up cutely.  
Dean laughs lightly, smearing the goo all over Castiel’s face. It catches in the line of his dark hair, a gentle widows peak appearing when Dean holds the bangs away from the child’s face. The older man rubs the sun-block in, listening to Castiel’s little giggles when he tickles the patch of skin under his jaw. 

“You ready to see the animals?” Dean crows, eyes bright. Castiel jumps up and down, little Captain America sneakers flashing red, white and blue with each stomp. He shakes his hands the same way he always does when he gets too excited. “Alright, babe, let’s go see the animals!” Dean gently slaps Castiel’s back, urging him forward. Castiel dashes off towards the gap in the gate with the till worker, but loops almost instantly back to clutch at Dean’s hand, the little boy’s knuckles stained white.  
Dean rubs his fingers over the bumps and ridges on Castiel’s hands, letting the young man tug him along. When they reach the wrinkled woman working the gate Castiel shuffles behind Dean, trying to hide his little body behind the bulk of his father’s. The woman, her tag reads LUCILLE, smiles warmly at Dean and crouches down to get level with Castiel.

“You’re a very handsome young man. I can see where you got your good looks from.” Her eyes flash to Dean and she winks, the sagging skin around her mouth teasing into a tender smile. “But there are a few rules here. I ask that you don’t feed the animals anything other than the food you buy especially for them and not to throw your trash into the pens or on the ground. The animals will munch it up!” She makes exaggerated chewing motions, the muscles in her neck straining. “The llamas and alpacas will spit-“ Castiel pulls a disgusted face and Dean chuckles- “so be careful around them. You can pet every animal behind these gates.” She clicks the lock and swings the door open, keys jangling at her hip pocket, “And the most important rule, have fun!” 

Castiel rockets into the fenced in pasture, almost dragging Dean behind him. The hunter murmurs a quick thank you to Lucille, who just smiles and briefly nods. A few goats are milling about, a dull look to their eyes as they crunch on the little puffs of grass and alfalfa. Castiel bounds up to one, lips parted as excited breaths push from his chest.

“Daddy!” He squeals, “Look at the little goat!” His chubby hand hovers over the course hair on the back of the goat. He gnaws on his bottom lip, eyes narrowing into slits. He seems to wager the safety of actually touching the goat. “Can I-?” He whispers, eyes darting to Dean’s. Dean’s eyes swim happily and he flashes an all-teeth grin at his ‘son’. 

“Yes, Pip.” Castiel’s hand still hovers uncertainly. Dean grabs Castiel’s small hands. His fingers eclipse Castiel’s. Together, he lowers their palms to touch the goat’s rough hair. Castiel squeaks when Dean runs their hands down the goat’s spine, the goat still staring laxly into space. “Do you like it?”

“I do like it.” Dean lets Castiel’s fingers go and the child continues to gently pat the goat. He was always soft, reminiscence of the righteous Angel he used to be lurking behind childish blue eyes. Castiel smiles crookedly at Dean, lips lopsided. “I do not want a goat, though.” He scratches the patch of hair behind the goat’s ear, mussing it up. 

“Why?” The hunter asks, gently cupping Castiel’s shoulder. He shrugs, Dean’s hand rising with the movement. “Why don’t you want a goat, Castiel?” Dean demanded, for some reason his heart leaps into his throat, hammering in his temples. “Cas. Answer me.” Worry bled into his tone of voice. 

“They don’t like it here.” Castiel whispers. His hands stop moving. “Look at their eyes, Daddy, they’re sad.” His bottom lip quivers and Dean kneels down, pulling his son into his arms. Castiel wilted against the strong expanse of the familiar chest. “They’re sad, Daddy!” He wails. A few people turn to look at Dean, who awkwardly shuffles to pet Castiel’s hair.

“They’re not sad, Cas. They get all kinds of love here, all the love they want. Doesn’t getting love make you happy?” Dean pauses, letting his words sink in. He presses a flurry of kisses to the side of Castiel’s face, warm and kind. Soothing. “They’re not sad, Cas, baby. Tell Daddy why you think the goats are sad.”

“Because-“ Castiel sniffles, wiping his nose on the curve of his wrist. Dean grimaces at the slimy trail of spit. He digs into his pocket for the crumpled napkins there, wiping Castiel’s face. “Because their eyes, Daddy. Their eyes.” 

“What about their eyes?” Castiel blew into the tissue and Dean folded it up, trying to catch the child’s damp eyes. “What about their eyes, Castiel?”

“When you get sad, your eyes..” His breath halts, another round of water works trailing down his flushed cheeks, “Your eyes look sad. Like empty. Like-“ His eyes go round as he finds the perfect words, “Like that broken swing set outside the Bunker looked before you fixed it. Sad like that. All.. All sad.” Castiel wipes at the tears drying on his cheeks and Dean makes a note to apply more sun-block. The small child pats the goat’s head. The goat just grinds its teeth together, crushing the hay in its mouth. “The goat looks sad like you, when you drink that brown stuff at the dinner table or that time we saw Grandma’s big, fancy stone in that creepy ghosty yard-“ He continues to ramble on. The blood in Dean’s veins is molten hot, singing the inside of his skin. “Uncle Sam’s eyes kinda looked like that, before he started to go with Gabe. Now his eyes are kind of like… They’re kind of like the swing set after you fixed it. So.. Happy. I guess? Yeah, happy.” 

“Do my eyes look sad a lot, Cas? Like the goats eyes?” Dean tries to ignore the eyes on the back of his neck. They were making a scene.

“No. Only with the brown stuff and the big rock that Grandma lives in.” 

“I’m sorry, baby. Daddy isn’t sad. I’m not sad.” Dean bundles Castiel into his arms again, pressing the small face to the crook of his neck. “I’m not sad. I used to be- before I had you. But now I’m not. And now I don’t drink the brown stuff.” His voice breaks. “I’m not sad.” Castiel nods into Dean’s neck. His breath is moist and warm, tears chilled on his face. “I would like to pet the bunnies, Dad.” Dean smiles, blinking away the sting of tears. 

“Let’s pet the bunnies, Gizmo.” Dean slowly stands up, his back popping. He rubs a sore spot at the bottom of his spine. He cards a hand through his short hair, some pieces sticking up. “Let’s just- pet the bunnies.” He repeats, tugging his son along. Castiel stumbles through the dirt, kicking out clouds of red sand. The heavy look in his eyes slowly sheds away. 

The bunnies are inside an old-fashioned red barn, strewn across the floor randomly. A small bun teeters on its hind legs, hopping around. Its little white toes are stained with red. Castiel gasps, eyes twinkling as he rushes towards a calico one. It bounds away. 

“I-I-If you w-w-walk slowly,” A little girl says, stuttering up to Castiel. Dean folds his arms across his chest, chuckling when Castiel shies away from the girl. “W-w-watch. If you walk s-s-slowly, you can p-p-p-pet one.” Her blond hair is pulled into pigtails and she kneels down, her bare knees pressing into the hay. “Come.” She mumbles, patting the dirt beside her. Castiel slowly sunk to the floor, crouching on his haunches.

The little girl clicks her tongue against the back of her teeth. The small calico rabbit wanders up to the blonde girl, butting it’s fluffy ears into her shaking palm. Castiel gasps, eyes wide. 

“P-pet gently.” She whispers. Castiel reaches his hand out, skimming his fingers over the quivering bun. “S-she is very s-s-soft.” Castiel nods, running his hands down the bunnies back. It’s hind legs shake with glee. “I’m C-C-Casee,” She stutters. 

“I’m Castiel. You can,” Castiel sucks nervously on his bottom lip, blue eyes darting around, “You can call me Cas.” 

“O-okay, Cas. I gotta g-g-go back to my m-mum. It was n-n-nice to meet y-ya.” Castiel nods. Casee stands up and the bunny skitters away, falling over onto its head. Castiel giggles, his hands curling up under his chin as they shake with excitement. One of the mothers, a tidy brunette with pleated braids, tosses a weary look at Castiel and then motions for Casee to come to her. Casee waves goodbye, leaping over to her mother.

“She was nice.” Dean said, helping Castiel to his feet. He dusted the grass and dirt off the seat of his pants, grinning. “Did you like her?” Castiel squints, tilting his head in that familiar way of his.

“Yes. She talked a little funny, but people say I talk funny too, so I didn’t say anything.” Dean ruffles Castiel’s hair. The small boy’s dark head of hair is wild and ruffled. 

“That was very nice of you not to say anything. Good job, bud.” 

Castiel glows under the compliment, cheeks creasing in a smile. Dimples appear in the wrinkles of his cheeks. They go to look at the chickens and Castiel cries when one flaps its wings at Dean. Castiel enjoys the sheep, the bat cavern and the snake. He refuses to hold the tarantula. They round the day out with the cows.

Castiel pats the flank of the pregnant cow, smiling. Dean leans against the wooden threshold of the pen, candy apple eyes warm and affectionate.

“She’d make a good burger!” Dean jokes, walking into the room and elbowing Castiel in the ribs. The child goes still, fingers stopping their rubbing motions on the side of the cow. His shoulders curl in.

“Burger?” He whispers, devastated. He turns to Dean, Captain America sneakers throwing light around the dim room. “Burger?” His bottom lip trembles, fat, crocodile tears gathering in the corners of his blue eyes. 

“No-“ Dean backtracks rapidly, throwing his hands in the air, “No!” He gathers Castiel into his arms, easily hefting the small child into the air.

“Cows make.. Cows make burgers?” The tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Dean can feel the fit growing with the tension in Castiel’s muscles. “We eat the cows?” Dean’s jaw goes slack, wracking his brain for the proper response. Castiel starts to wail. “But the cow has feelings! It has eyes! And a brain! It’s got babies!” He thumps his small head into the curve of Dean’s shoulder. “Babies, Daddy! BABIES!”  
They were the only ones in the cow pen, luckily. Dean started rocking on his heels, bouncing subtly. Castiel drops his cheek against Dean’s collar bone, spit and snot pooling in the hollow of his throat. Dean shushes his crying child, slowly leaving the room and toting Castiel out of the barn. They pass the bunnies and clucking chickens. Castiel cries for several minutes, the long day wearing down his small faculties.  
Dean takes them outside. The heat is no longer stifling, a vacant cool settling over the dusty farm. Castiel snuffles loudly into Dean’s skin, sobs petering into gentle hiccups and desperate swallows. When they pass the white and brown speckled goat from earlier Castiel peels over in Dean’s arms, pressing two fingers to the lump above the animals eye.

“What’re you doing, Cas?” Dean mutters, shifting his hold on Castiel so the child wouldn’t fall. “Cas?” He repeats. Castiel’s eyelid is twitching, his mouth pressed into a thin white line. “Cas?” Dean almost shouts, frightened. The goat butts its head into Castiel’s hand, showing its first sign of intelligent life since they’d arrived. Its brown eyes were suddenly more aware, flickering across the hay covered ground it rested upon. “What did you do?” Dean whispers, shocked. The goat looks up at Castiel, something shifted in its face. It’s like his lips are pulled into a smile. Dean shivers.

“Didn’t want the goat to be sad anymore.” Castiel shrugs, slumping against Dean once again. “Just didn’t want the goat to be sad.” He goes limp; a hand hanging limply by Dean’s hip, bumping against his Dad’s leg. Dean’s heart roars in his ears, blood rushing to his cheeks. He bundles Castiel against his chest and rushes out of the gate. The child is lax in his arms, warm breath tickling Dean’s throat.  
“Have a good evening!” Lucille yells from her spot at the gate. Dean nods briskly, holding Castiel’s skull against his chest as he jogs down the dirt path. He trips over a stone and stumbles. He falls to one knee, grunting. A cut in his knee swells blood. He gets to his shaking feet again, almost running towards the Impala. Castiel’s head bumps around, soft snores escaping from his parted lips.

They reach the vintage Chevy, Dean’s chest heaving with anxiety. He sets Castiel in his booster seat, fingers quaking as he fumbles with the seat belt. He pulls it across Castiel’s small chest, the green fabric of his shirt wrinkling under the leather. Dean presses a kiss to Castiel’s temple. The warm whoosh of breath over his throat reminds him that Castiel is alive. Dean scrambles over Castiel, shutting the back seat door. He set his head in the cradle of his son’s lap, breathing heavily through his nose. After several minutes Castiel twitches awake, rubbing his pudgy hands over his eyes.

“ ‘m hungry, Daddy,” He whispers. His face was soft with sleep, the slope of his cheekbones and chin gentle with youth. Dean nods, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. Relieved tears prickle at the corner of his eyelids, his mouth trembling. “You sad, Daddy?” Castiel mumbles, reaching his hand out. He brushes his small knuckles against Dean’s cheek. 

“No,” Dean says softly. His voice cracks with emotion. “No I’m not sad.” He blinks away the wetness in his eyes, capturing Castiel’s hand and pressing his mouth against it. Castiel’s skin is salty with sweat and sun-block. “I’m not sad, baby. What do you want to eat for dinner?”

“Anything but cow burgers.” 

Dean laughs, “Yeah. No cow burgers, Cas, babe, I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback appreciated.


End file.
